


the forest holds strange creatures

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Happy Halloween idiots, I say size kink bc L is a like ten foot tall tree cryptid, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink, Strange and Short Use of the Album Pet Sounds, Tetraphilia (aka monster fucking), cryptid AU, so.......hard not to be into that i guess...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: "He’s not what Light expected. For one, the creature wears clothes—beat up jeans and a hole-ridden white sweater. All over his skin is mossy bark and his hands are gnarled, fingernails black and grimy. Dark thatches of unevenly cut hair grow from his head with leaves caught in the waves. He stares at Light from wide coal black eyes. When he opens his mouth, all his teeth are sharp."(cryptid au where Light, a student of paranormal research, finds a cryptid named L and discovers that perhaps he's not as alone as he thought he was.)





	1. Origin Story

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhhhhhh. this fic took me eighty years to write (or at least it felt that way). thank u to @13eyond13 for beta-ing this for me and thank u to @frutee for reading the first half and telling me i did good. anyway. i hope y'all enjoy.

_"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." -Carl Sagan_

...

The edges of the letter are damp and a little brown from being dropped on the forest floor. Light clutches it and reads the stupid words again. He isn’t unused to dismissive letters from his graduate program nor is he new to his requests for money and resources being met with laughs. Oh, the words always sting when his research is called “a fruitless endeavor” or his beliefs are reduced to AM radio conspiracy nonsense. All the goodwill he built up with his top student in Japan grades is running lower and lower. But this letter—another rejection of his Ningen article from the school’s academic publication—hurts worse after a so far uneventful trip in what he’s sure are inhabited woods.

Light chews his pinkie nail and groans. When he had heard about the creature in this English town’s woods, it had been from a small packet sent to him by a resident. The story had been odd at first but the information was undeniably tempting. After all, there were a handful of credible firsthand accounts and a few blurred snapshots which were more convincing than most pieces of evidence Light worked with.

Sitting here wet and without a single piece of proof, Light thinks he should have just tossed that package in the trash when he saw no return address. As he starts to read the letter again, a rustle sounds from bushes near his campsite and when Light looks toward them, something steps out—something bigger and more clear than a blurry picture.

He’s not what Light expected. For one, the creature wears clothes—beat up jeans and a hole-ridden white sweater. All over his skin is mossy bark and his hands are gnarled, fingernails black and grimy. Dark thatches of unevenly cut hair grow from his head with leaves caught in the waves. He stares at Light from wide coal black eyes. When he opens his mouth, all his teeth are sharp.

Light touches his camera looped around his neck and the creature flinches. Behind a tree, the creature crouches and follows his slow movements toward him. Dark eyes flicker with a predator’s vigilance. All that’s in the pockets of Light’s over-sized coat are research tools, notebooks and pens. For a guilty moment, he regrets not bringing a weapon.

Light raises his camera to his face but stops as the creature stands up. At its full height, the monster nearly reaches the tree branches but misses them due to a hunch. Light’s throat goes dry and he steps away. The creature reaches out with broken twig fingers. A bolt of fear flashes through Light’s spine and he runs. Behind him, the thudding footsteps of the creature follow. He runs faster.

“Wait.” A rumbling voice calls after him. “Don’t run.”

Light whips his head to look over his shoulder and the creature smiles. Thankfully his mouth is closed. Fists squeezing together, Light keeps running. As he does, he berates himself. Didn’t he come all the way to England to follow stories of a creature in the woods? Here is a creature, ready to make contact, and he runs away? This moment is no time for terror. He must seize the opportunity—for his research and for his sanity. Skidding to a halt, he digs his boot heels into the soft earth and turns to face the creature.

The creature hunches into a crouch again so they’re eye level. Up close, he appears more humanoid but the bark grows up his cheeks. Light gets the urge to feel that rough texture but holds himself still.

“You,” the creature says. “You are in my home.”

Light takes in a deep breath and pulls up the most welcoming smile he has. After three days in the woods, Light expects he looks nearly as rough as the creature. His pants have mud on the hem and his sweater smells ripe.

“Hello.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Light Yagami. I’m a researcher.”

“I know.” Dark eyes dart over Light’s face. “I’ve seen researchers before.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Light turns his palm up and tries to radiate harmless energy. “You speak English?”

“I speak a lot of languages.” The creature looks at Light’s hand and puts a single black nailed finger on it. “What do you speak?”

“We can speak English,” Light says. “If that makes you more comfortable.”

“I asked what you speak.”

“I—,” Light coughs, “I’m Japanese. Do you speak that?”

“Yes.” The creature traces a circle in his palm and a shiver skips up Light’s spine. “Why are you in my home?”

“I’m here to study you.” As he says the words, Light flushes with embarrassment. Now that he’s spoken to the creature, study seems too cruel and impersonal a term to use. What’s a kinder way to put things? How can he soften the creature to get what he needs? “I mean to say I want to get to know you.”

“Hm.” The creature takes his hand back and puts it on his mouth. Hooking it into his bottom lip, the creature’s eyes roll to the sky and then back to Light. “What can you give me?”

“Give you?” Light pats down his pockets. He’s got to have something the creature will want. His protractor? No, that’s too sharp. A notebook? Light rubs the outline of a small memo pad in his left pocket but decides against it. Another lump catches his fingers and he pulls out a tiny strawberry hard candy. He holds it out in his palm. “What about this?”

The creature snatches it from him and pops it into his mouth. Wet sucking noises fill the air as he pushes it around in his mouth. It makes his cheeks bulge like a chipmunk’s. He settles his forearms on his knees and bites down on the candy, cracking it into red sugar shards.

“Do you have more of these?”

“I can get more,” Light says. “If I get more, will you talk to me?”

Features composed in mock thoughtfulness, the creature tilts his head back and forth. He scratches the side of his face and a few chips of bark fall off. Light’s stomach is swollen in anticipation but he keeps a straight face. He’s unable to stop sweat from forming on his brow while waiting. Finally, the creature nods in agreement.

“Yes. I’ll answer your questions.” He grinds his teeth when he speaks. “What does Light Yagami want to know?”

Hastily, Light rummages in his coat pocket for a notebook and pen. Bright and eager, he sets the pen against paper and can’t help a genuine smile.

“What are you?” His voice skips over his question. The creature’s mouth flattens as he thinks. He picks at where a leaf is tangled in his hair before answering.

“I have many names,” he says. “But I call myself L.”

…

Light stands in front of his mirror and examines himself. To the back of him, the twin bed and angled roof of his small room are visible. Renting the attic of a local family’s home wasn’t his first choice but the hotels in the area were too expensive. Downstairs, two children have a muffled argument and someone scolds them. He tucks his white undershirt into the waist band of his briefs, tugs a dark wool sweater on and threads a belt through the loops of his cargo pants. He zips up and readjusts his packer to the left. There. Now he’s perfect.

He shrugs on his parka and collects some larger items into a shoulder bag including his thick black notebook. Held together by a silent prayer, the book bursts at the seams with colored post it notes and extra pages stuffed in. Before he puts it in, Light thumbs through the book to reexamine his notes. A frustration builds behind his eyes as he passes by entry after entry of failed research ventures and then dissipates once he lands on his first encounter with L. This is it. This is going to change things.

Light snaps the notebook shut and tosses it in his bag. The bag slaps against his leg as he slings it across his chest and heads downstairs. As he descends, the children’s argument becomes clearer. They’re fighting about a puzzle.

“It’s not fair.” The taller of the two, a blond boy in a black long sleeve shirt and dark jeans, pushes the other kid, a boy with bright white hair in pajamas, to the ground. “Near always gets to finish the puzzle and I never get to.”

“Maybe if you actually knew the answers you’d finish them too.” Near twists a finger in his hair with a lazy expression. “You’re just a sore loser.”

As the other child opens his mouth to yell again, the man renting Light his room, Mr. Wammy, grabs him by the shoulder.

“We have guests,” he says and gestures to where Light stands in the doorway. “Sorry you have to see them fighting. They really are friends.”

“Oh. Ha.” Light waves his hand. He doesn’t have time to deal with bratty kids. “It’s fine. I’m headed out anyway.”

“Where are _you_ going?” The blond kid points an angry finger at Light and he resists the urge to glare at him. Brat.

“Miheal,” Wammy says. “Be polite.”

“Don’t call me that. No one calls me that. It’s Mello, remember?”

“Oh, of course.” Wammy laughs while on the floor Near picks at the offending puzzle. He slides his gaze away to regard Light with academic interest. Then he turns back to Mello and sniffs.

“He’s going to the woods.” Near spits out the words. “He’s going to talk to the creep that lives there.”

“What?” Mello’s mouth is wide when he speaks. He looks at Light flabbergasted. “You can’t go there! That guy will eat you. For real. There’s been a bunch of people missing. Even one of the high school students went missing.”

“Beyond didn’t go missing.” Near rolls his eyes. “They found him, remember? He just went to the next town over and got arrested for setting a fire in the Taco Bell bathroom.”

“Oh yeah.” A little of the air in Mello goes out before it catches back up. “But still. It might happen.”

“Um.” Light shifts from one foot to another. “Alright. Well, I’m going now. I’ll be back later tonight, Mr. Wammy.”

“Don’t be out too late.”

Wammy speaks with the same warmth Light’s mom uses. The older man is nice and he’s usually busy enough that he doesn’t bother Light. His profession, albeit a tad unclear, requires visits to and from London during the week. While he hasn’t asked after the nature of Wammy’s job, his father has been a police man long enough for Light know what case files look like and seeing them paper his temporary home gives him a wave of unwanted nostalgia.

He hasn’t been in Japan longer than a week for years but that’s almost a relief. Going home means returning to disappointed talks from his father about his career direction. Home means sitting in the To-Oh library writing paper after paper based on shaky evidence collected by other people. Home means receiving no recognition for those papers beyond a professor telling him how creative his work is. There’s no point in paying Japan his time when it doesn’t want what he has. If he wants to go home, he needs to bring back something that will prove to everyone his work is worth listening to. He’s worth listening to.

Light walks out the door and grabs the bike he’s borrowing. It’s too small for him so his knees come up high when he pedals down the tiny paved road toward the woods. Red brick houses fly past him and wind combs over his head. Autumn bites his cheeks as his parka billows behind him.

When Light reaches the woods, he locks the bike to a short tree. He heads between the bigger, taller trees as overhead the sun begins to sift through thick tree branches. As he walks, he steps over wild white mushrooms and soft, wet patches of leaves. On a few trees, he’s pinned pink flags so he doesn’t lose his way. Thirty minutes pass before he comes to their meeting place but L isn’t there. Light checks his watch and frowns.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “You’re late.”

He shouldn’t have expected a creature to be punctual but tardiness doesn’t sit well with Light. As he waits, he paces the small circular clearing and dumps his bag next to a stump. With his boot toe, he traces out his name and one long sweep, he erases the letters before tracing them again.

Loud footsteps sound from the trees in front of him. L pushes apart branches and reveals himself, just as disheveled as always. Mud stains smear over his thinning white sweater and he has new holes in his jeans.

“Hello, Light.” L’s voice is flat. “I’m sorry you had to wait.”

“Oh.” Light blows air from the side of his mouth. “Don’t worry. It was barely a minute.”

L gives a slow nod and looks pointedly at Light’s bag. Sensing his question before he says it, Light digs out his jumbo bag of mixed candies. He tosses them to L, who catches them mid-air and tears into the bag. Three lollipops stick out of his mouth while Light sits on a stump and gets comfortable.

“How have you been since yesterday?”

“Fine.” L thumps down with his knees bent up to his chest. He bites down on the lollipops with a loud crunch. His mouth moves in lazy circles as he chews. “I ate a few rabbits.”

“Do you usually eat rabbits?” Light scribbles down a few notes while L spits out the lollipop sticks and rummages for more candy. “What would you say your usual diet is?”

“Sometimes rabbits.” Scratching his head, L tilts his head sideways and grins. “Sometimes humans.”

Light’s stomach riots and it must show on his face because L snorts. He pops a peanut butter cup in his mouth and grins wider, teeth smeared with chocolate.

“I’m only joking,” he says. “I haven’t eaten any humans in a long time.”

“But you’ve eaten them before?” Light can’t help the tremor in his tone.

“When I was younger.” L nods with a thoughtful look. “Not much else to eat and I didn’t know better.”

“It’s wrong to eat people.”

“I know that _now_.” L rolls his eyes. “It’s been two hundred years since I ate a person.”

Light taps his pen to his notebook and he writes a short note in the margins.

“You said it’s been two hundred years?” Light waits for L to nod and then takes another note. “So how old are you?”

“Four hundred and sixty years.” L holds up four dirty fingers. They look as though the rabbit he ate lingers under his nails. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” Light says. “Not that it matters.”

“It matters.” L puts his candy bag down and sets his hands on his knees. “Why do you want to study me?”

“I’m the one asking the questions.” Light says. “I’m not here to talk about myself.”

A frown sinks on L’s face. He sticks a hand into his candy bag and holds out a box of Nerds to Light. When Light returns the gesture with a confused expression, he gives the box an emphatic shake.

“If I give you this candy,” he says, “will you answer me?”

“That’s not a good bargaining tool.” Light crosses his arms and leans back. His notebook pages flutter in the wind and flip to older notes. They’re stained from coffee and rain water. “I don’t like candy.”

“Don’t be difficult.” L shakes the box harder in his direction. “This is very kind of me. I don’t like to share my candy.”

Biting the side of his cheek, Light weighs his options. Sighing, he swipes the Nerds from L and puts it in his pocket. Maybe he’ll give it to one of those kids at Wammy’s.

“I work in paranormal research,” he says. “And you’re an interesting paranormal creature.”

“Is that all?” L’s stare bores holes into Light.

“Yes.”

L puts his thumb to his lips and worries the nail. Antsy, Light fiddles with a page corner and thinks of more questions.

“How tall would you say you are?” His voice comes out less firm than he wants. L’s eyes nearly cross as he thinks and a little laugh trickles out of Light.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never measured myself.”

“Let’s find out then.” Light digs around in his coat pocket and pulls out a tape measurer. His face is bright with the prospect of discovery.

Next to L is a long, solid looking tree that Light knows he can climb. As he approaches the tree, he tucks his notebook in a coat pocket. While L watches, Light grasps one branch and attempts to heave himself up. He gets his other arm to the second branch before his boot loses purchase and he falls backward to the forest floor. Light hits the ground with an unsatisfying thump and bark chips smack his face. Blinking, he catches sight of L’s amused expression and sucks his teeth angrily.

“Do you need help?”

“I can climb a tree.” Light makes the pronouncement as confidently as he can but there’s little evidence to back it up. He grew up in a large city where the only tree he ever climbed was a short one at a park his mother took him to twice. While he considers himself athletic, sports hadn’t played a huge role in his life since his sophomore year of college and he’s never had great core strength. Lying on the damp ground, Light wonders whether a second shot is worth the information he needs to gather. Beside him, L hums.

“I can lift you.” L shrugs when Light turns an incredulous look on him. “I can. Here—,” he grabs the back of Light’s shirt and tugs him upright, “—up you go.”

The sensation of being picked up and plopped on a tree branches is one Light never experienced before. He doubts many people have experienced it at all. L stands after he lets go of Light and gives him a knowing look.

“Are you afraid of being so high up?”

“No.” Light takes his tape measurer and starts to unroll it. He tries very hard not to look down until he has to. “Stand up straight. I want your full height.”

Coming out of his hunch, L’s head is level with Light’s tree branch. He’s close enough that Light reaches out and brushes a hand over his hair. Smooth but a little clumped in places, it springs up after Light presses it down. When he takes his hand away, a few leaves are stuck between his fingers.

“That felt nice.” L shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Will you do it again?”

Light frowns and shakes his head. Instead, he pulls the tape measurer down until it stops at L’s feet. He checks the measurement and nods.

“Three hundred and five centimeters.” He pulls out his notebook to scribble down the number. “Impressive. Taller than Mothman.”

“How interesting.” L’s tone implies that he doesn’t find the fact interesting at all. “Do you want to come down now?”

“Yes,” Light says. “But don’t use my coat to carry me. Just—I’ll grab onto your fingers.”

“Alright.” L holds out his hand and Light wraps his arms around it. He dangles from it until his feet brush the ground. “You don’t weigh much. One might say you’re very _light_.”

“Don’t.” Light crosses his arms over his chest. Ignoring L’s sharp snort, he checks the dwindling sunlight coming through the trees. “I should get going before it gets too dark. Will you meet me here again tomorrow?”

”Hm. Maybe.”

Light stifles an eye roll. This is going to be a very long and annoying period of research.

…

August moves like a slow shopper and examines each day too closely. While Light’s notes grow on L, he is impatient. The town dollar store must think he’s some kind of addict the way he’s been buying mixed candy bags. Mello and Near certainly think its rude of him to not share so Light takes to locking his door at night otherwise he wakes up to half the bag devoured. L gobbles the candy down and answers Light with one word responses before turning his dark eyes back onto the researcher.

L’s attention doesn’t seem to be focused on helping Light so much as peeling off pieces of him. Light knows how to speak without saying a word and each time gives back as flat an answer as he can. Stones, however, sink in his stomach during these little conversations and he’s frustrated. The attention L pays him rubs Light’s ego in the best place and he wants to spill himself open. But he knows he can’t and stuffs the feeling down in order to ask if he can take a clipping from L’s finger bark. At the Wammy house, he has a small garden of L clippings on the windowsill including a small snip from his nose. When he leaves, Light resists the urge to give the small green plants a comforting pat. They seem to want the encouragement.

On the final day of August, their meeting goes its usual way where Light takes measurements, samples and notes while L bothers him for personal information. He’s asked several times about Light’s apartment back in Japan—the response is boring as Light, since he leaves frequently for research trips, doesn’t consider that bare walled square home—and the sun sets behind his tangled hair.

“I’ll give you a box of chocolate raisins,” L wheedles. “But you have to tell me if you have any bookshelves.”

“I have one.” Light frowns and waves away the box being offered to him. “No. I don’t like raisins. Why don’t you ever offer me good candy?”

“All candy is good candy.” Leaves fall from L as he shrugs his large shoulders. “I’ll try to choose ones that you’ll like next time.”

“Alright.” Humming, Light checks the warm orange ooze of the evening sky. “It’s later than I thought. I’ll meet you here again tomorrow, yeah?”

Consideration pulls L’s features into a quiet expression that Light admits is near handsome. He likes how focus looks on L. A minute passes and L gives an emphatic head shake.

“No.”

“No?”

“Stay the night with me.” L’s voice is deep and tumbles through Light’s ears. His expression is a sugar lined version of innocence—enough so that Light knows he’s faking it. “Don’t make that face. It’s just one night.”

“I’m not going to sleep in some cave.” Light’s answer comes out snottier than he wants but the sentiment is the same. “I don’t like sleeping on the ground or anything.”

“My cave is nice,” L says. “I have a bed and a couch. You wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground.”

“Well.” Closing his eyes, Light shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t have any supplies to sleep there. I don’t have any extra clothes packed or a toothbrush.”

“I have extra toothbrushes.” L nods as though he physically needs to shake up answers to each of Light’s excuses. “I don’t have any clothes that would fit you but I don’t see a problem with wearing the same thing twice.”

When Light doesn’t respond, L picks his candy bag up to sort through it. His movements are unhurried and his fingers flicker around in the plastic until he goes still. The corner of L’s mouth tugs up as he finds what he wants. One long arm extends and holds a red strawberry candy out to Light. Unthinkingly, Light opens his palm and catches it.

“Oh,” he says. “These are my favorite.”

“Stay the night.” L’s voice is flat enough to make the sentence a demand. “You can ask me more questions.”

Light curls his fingers and squeezes the candy in his hand. It’s the end of his first month and, despite having his subject in front of him, he can’t stop the feeling that he doesn’t know enough. This offer is a chance to dig and Light’s fingers itch to sink into L’s world. When he looks back at L, his mind is made up.

“Yes.”

…

On the trek back to L’s cave, Light calls Wammy to let him know he won’t come home. Mello and Near are in the background and yell questions as though Light can hear them.

“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable staying out there?” Wammy asks the question without any real concern. His attention is diverted mostly to telling the kids to stop interrupting. Light hears a muffled shout again in Mello’s voice but can only make out half the question—something about how big something was.

“I’ll be fine,” Light says. “I’m staying with”—he pauses and looks up to make sure L isn’t within earshot—“a friend. Is it alright to keep the bike over night?”

“That’s alright. No one rides it anymore but you.” Wammy shushes another question, this time from Near whose voice is quiet but much clearer than Mello’s. He asks about whether or not Light is being held against his will. “I apologize for the children. They watched some scary movie this afternoon and have let their imaginations get the better of them.”

“Huh.” Light skips over a large rock as, ahead of him, L shoves a tree out of the way. “Well. Tell Mello three hundred and five centimeters and Near that I’m doing this of my own freewill.”

“They’ll be over the moon,” Wammy says. “Light?”

“Hm?”

“I hope you have a nice night with your friend.” His voice is knowing but Light can’t figure what it is that Wammy might know. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The longer the walk goes on, the heavier Light’s jacket feels with all his equipment packed into it. His bag drags him down too and Light stumbles over a root or two. Swearing, he grips his bag strap to wrench it into a better position but stops as it lifts off his shoulder. He looks up to see L taking the bag off him completely.

“Give that back.” Light reaches to snatch the bag but L pulls it up so his fingers just brush the bottom. “Was this your plan? Take me out into the middle of the woods and steal my work?”

“You were struggling.” L rolls his eyes and moves on while Light jogs after his long strides. “I thought you’d like me to _lighten_ the load.”

Light ignores the pun in favor of protesting more. “I can handle a heavy bag. How much further to go? It can’t be too long now, can it?”

“It isn’t.” L shrugs. “But I wanted to help. That’s what friends do.”

“I—,” Light stops and his eyes go wide. “Friends?”

“Oh yes.” A crow lands in L’s hair and he shakes a hand to scare it off. The bird doesn’t move and settles into the tangles. “That’s what you called me on the phone. It’s very exciting. Light is my first friend.”

Light stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares straight ahead. Under his boots, wet leaves sink with just highlights of noise. As far as he can see are trees inclining on the mountain side they’re walking up. Through the tree trunks peeks the sunset which casts pinkish warmth over the woods including the crow on L’s head. It squawks and pecks him as he walks but after his initial swipe at it, L does nothing. Another few feet of its cries grates Light’s patience into nothing and he yanks on L’s sleeve.

“Bend down.” Light yanks harder. “I’m getting rid of that stupid bird.”

“Ah.” L places his hands on his knees and bows forward until the bird is face level with Light. Its shiny black eyes regard him with disgruntled annoyance. As though sensing Light’s mission, the crow settles further into L’s hair.

“Shoo.” Light pushes the bird and raises his voice over its unhappy squawks. “Get out of here. Leave us alone.”

Frantically flapping its wings, the crow lets L’s hair loose and flies directly at Light. He throws his arms up in defense but it still scratches them with tiny claws. A cacophony of Light’s screams and the bird’s caws echo through the trees. Bubbles of breath catch in Light’s throat as he fights against the crow pecking at him. Then, through black panicked wings, he sees a large hand come out and smack the crow away.

The crow cries and smashes into a tree. Pleasant satisfaction warms him until he looks down at his hands. Small cuts decorate his palms and fingers that sting when he moves. Threads of blood trickle from them and fall to wet the ground.

“How unfortunate.” L’s voice is quiet from above. He crouches to Light’s height and takes one hand into his own. A long finger pokes a cut and Light hisses. “Don’t worry. I can fix this at home.”

His hands are gentle as he lets go and Light leans forward to chase them before dropping his hands to his side. Embarrassed, he turns his attention back to the stamped down trail they’ve been following and ignores L as he picks up the crow, snaps its neck and puts it in Light’s bag.

Light expects an empty yawning cave to greet them when L tells him they’ve arrived. Instead, a front door surrounded by uneven planks of wood covers the entrance. While the planks are probably L’s handiwork, precise grooves and an even coat of scarlet paint betrays the door’s more professional origin. L pushes it open and ducks into the cave, Light’s bag slung over his shoulder.

“Did you steal that door?” Light steps in after L. He receives a shrug in return.

“No one lived in the house.” L stops and taps a finger to his mouth. He gives Light an almost embarrassed look. “Not that I could tell, anyway.”

Light smirks as he imagines a nice family coming home to find their pretty red door replaced by a gaping hole.

The walk isn’t long but Light marvels at how the cave becomes larger as they go on. In the distance is a warm glow and he focuses on it while he walks. Orange light crawls over slippery walls that suck all the illumination in and reflect it back. Slowly the ceiling becomes higher and L’s hunch less severe. What was rocky dirt crushed under his boots starts to turn into a smooth floor that Light nearly skids on.

A few more steps and a modest tableau comes into view. Every object bumps up against each other but, instead of being claustrophobic, the effect is homey. On the left is a stove and counter top that dips into a metal basin. Next to the basin is a small red icebox surrounded by a water puddle. Pushed against the back wall is a sunken bed. Its metal frame bends inward and the mattress—big enough to fit L to about his knees—is covered by cowboy themed sheets. Facing out and pressed to the right wall is a couch covered in old, pilled plaid fabric. The cushions are dented and at either end are stained but quaint decorative pillows.

All over and in between all these features are books. Stacks of books are strewn on the bed, teeter on the kitchen counter and populate any free space on the floor. Light recognizes a few titles—Lord of the Rings, Crime and Punishment, Grey's Anatomy—but others escape his knowledge. Most of them have the brittle plastic covers indicative of library books and several stacks have folders crowning them. While L sets his bag down, Light picks up one of the books and turns it over in his hands. He flips through the pages that bear stains on their edges and squints at the English. Many of the words he knows but a few he doesn't. When he looks up, L is taking the bird from his bag.

"I can’t believe you put that dead thing in with my stuff.” Light rushes to gather his bag in his arms. He rummages through it to make sure none of his things have been contaminated by the dead bird. L rolls his eyes and tosses the bird on the kitchen counter. "What are you going to do? Eat that?"

"Yes," L says. "Why? Do you want it? I didn't think you would want any crow."

"Most humans don't." Light finishes his inspection and hangs his bag off a metal chair next to the dining table. Reassured, he glances around L's cave room. "Where did you find all this furniture?"

"Some of it I took." Swinging the icebox open, L drops the bird inside. Before he shuts it, Light catches a glimpse of some covered glass dishes but can’t see their actual contents. "People throw away lots of nice things. Some of it showed up at my door. There's a man who leaves me things and I put them in my cave."

Light's ears perk up and he pulls his notebook out.

"Who is this man?" His pen scribbles almost on its own as he continues to talk. "Do you know him? Have you met him?"

"I’ve met him once." L moves to the top cabinet and rummages before pulling out a white, first aid tin. "He didn’t stay very long, just enough to give me some more books. He saw I liked them.”

“So you two have spoken?”

“Not really. Neither of us wanted any conversation. Usually what he gives me has notes on it telling me to put it back out when I finish with it—files and what not."

"Files? Like what kind of files?"

Humming, L sets the tin down and pulls a folder from a stack. Light takes it and knocks it open. Some papers spill out—fingerprint photo copies and a coroner’s report. There’s a polaroid of a grizzled looking man and notes made in wobbly handwriting Light assumes is L’s.

“I know this case.” Light thumbs over the polaroid. “This man, he was arrested a year ago for serial murder in Osaka. Someone is giving you these kind of files?”

“Yes. He has me solve them.” L grabs the tin and crowds Light backward until his legs hit the couch. He falls back onto the seat and short grunt leaves him. With two fingers, L pinches the folder from Light and puts it on a nearby book stack. “Hold out your hands.”

Hm. He’s going to need to chat with a certain homeowner when he returns from the forest. Light extends his hands palm up.  A sharp, bitter sting pops through him as L brings an alcohol wipe over his claw induced cuts. He sucks his bottom lip in at the next swipe but L’s hands are easy as they hold him still.

“How many have you solved?”

“Eighty.” L lays a fabric band aid over a larger cut while he answers and doesn’t look up from his task. “Never the same answer twice.”

He finishes and looks at Light. Under the thick bark, a greenish tint burnishes L’s cheeks. Despite the fact that Light’s hands are fully cared for now, L still holds them in his large, warm palms.

“Do you—,” Light coughs, “—do you like solving the cases?”

“Mm.” L lets Light’s hands fall and creaks up into a standing hunch. “It’s fun. Things get so boring in the woods and the files are interesting. They’re a challenge.”

He goes to the bed, bends over and pulls out a large bundle of newspapers. Slipping the top one off, he waves it at Light. When he takes it, Light finds the paper damp but the headline still legible. In bold typeface, it declares the capture of a serial killer with a picture beneath matching the one in the case file.

“You solved this murder?” Light glances up at L, who is preoccupied by repackaging his first aid kit. “You really—you caught this guy?”

“Yes,” L says. “Are you hungry?”

Light flips the newspaper back and forth in his hands. He sinks into the weak couch with the headline still blaring at him.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat before setting the newspaper aside. “I’m kind of hungry.”

“Okay.” L rummages in the red icebox. Water spits out around him as he digs and Light strains to see what is inside. “I’ve got something I think you’ll eat.”

“You’re not going to feed me that dead bird, are you?”

“No. That’s for me.” From the icebox, L takes a covered glass dish. “This is for you. I don’t really know what it is but the man left it here a day ago, so you should be able to eat it. Is that okay?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Light sits up as L opens the dish. Once he removes the cover, Light finds a small portion of cooked salmon inside with a few icy broccoli florets bundled at the side. “That’ll be fine.”

A grin flashes on L’s lips. He turns to fiddle with the oven while Light stands. He wanders around the books and touches them. Their spines feel stiff.

“How long have you been doing this?” Light brushes a hand over a different blue folder—this one with a polaroid of a young woman clipped to it. “Solving these crimes?”

“Ten years,” L says. “At least I think it’s been that long.”

“Don’t you feel upset when the police take credit for your work?” Eyes trailing across the room, Light lands on L’s face and they stare at each other. Then, L breaks their eye contact to toss the salmon into the oven. From a cabinet, he takes a kitchen timer shaped like a chicken and sets it for twenty minutes.

“I don’t want to be known.” L’s voice is tissue paper thin around uneasy words. “That’s not why I solve the cases. I like being right and being left alone.”

“You like being alone?”

“I’ve always been alone.” L shrugs and turns his dark eyes onto Light. “What about you?”

“I don’t care.” Light folds his arms across his chest and walks between the book stacks. He thinks about knocking one over but refrains. “There’s no difference for me.”

“There has to be some kind of difference.”

“There’s not.” The fresh click of Light’s tongue snaps the conversation short. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

A long pause scoops the space between them and L’s expression doesn’t change. This conversation isn’t going how Light wants it to. He turns and sits on the rickety folding chair at L’s table. With a finger, he traces a circle and frowns. Crinkling sounds play as white noise behind him until a long finger taps his shoulder. Light looks up and L drops another strawberry candy onto the table.

“Do you like being alone?” L nudges the candy closer. “Here. For your answer.”

Light’s hand fidgets as he considers. He takes the candy.

“I don’t know if I like it,” he says. “Being alone is easier.”

L nods and doesn’t press for more. He wanders away from Light to fiddle with the dead crow. Black feathers pile up next to him on the counter and he hums. It’s a tune Light doesn’t recognize but he thinks that might be because L isn’t singing the song right. The wrapper lets out a weasel-like whine when Light twists it open. One handed, he tosses the candy into his mouth and a burst of sweet stings his tongue.

L leaves the naked bird on the counter to kneel and rummage in the lower cabinet. From it, he takes out a beaten purple boom box. Worn flower stickers decorate it and he sets it next to the bird.

“Do you like music?”

“Yeah.” Light’s voice is slurred around the spit the candy generates. Once he sees the boom box, he grabs his notebook and scribbles something down. _Creature understands technology and music._ “You know a lot about music?”

“Some. I’ve read a little in books and found some music in the donation bin.” L presses play without putting anything into the player. The first notes of _“Wouldn’t It Be Nice”_ play and he wiggles a finger to the beat. “I like this one the best.”

Light writes another note: _Creature’s music taste is old._ L takes out a knife and slams it down. The crow’s head rolls separate from its body and blood colors the counter. Between his thumb and forefinger, L pinches the crow’s head and holds it up. He rubs it back and forth for a while before popping it into his mouth. Splintering crunches jab Light’s ears until nausea takes over. Over the sound of bones snapping, the next song rolls on. L swings his head around to catch Light’s disturbed expression and chews slower. A few feathers stick to his lips.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m hungry.”

The chicken timer dings and L hustles to the oven. He puts on a pair of worn oven mitts to pull out the salmon.  After digging out a clean plate from the metal basin, he presents the dinner to Light with a small fork. Around the rim are chips and sharp ridges which Light avoids when he takes the plate. L sits across from him—dead crow plucked clean—and starts rip into it.

 _His teeth look sharper buried in something’s skin_ , Light thinks.

Dinner makes Light quiet. His mind churns through the day’s information with steady, well trained hands. Processing all that L represents springs a hot excitement in his heart that Light hasn’t felt in a long time. While L spits bird bones to the floor, Light already has visions of endless research grants and fatherly approval coursing through him. He pushes a broccoli floret around while his thoughts lace together the thesis of his next, proof laden paper. The floret yields under his fork and L clears his throat.

Light glances from his cleaned plate to L. Long dark nails scratch the bark on L’s cheeks and he grumbles. There’s some blood clinging to his lips.

“May I ask you something?” L rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and blurs his speech. “It’s important.”

Light pauses and nods.

“I asked you why you were studying me before,” L says. “You didn’t trust me with the truth so you lied.”

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t think you needed the whole story. It’s not very interesting.”

L watches Light with a puzzled expression that turns critical. His nose crinkles as he leans forward and sniffs loudly.

“Why are you studying paranormal things?” L clears his throat and shuffles his legs for comfort. “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Pursing his lips, Light tilts back in his chair. His fork twists back and forth between his fingers until it grows sticky from sweat. Heat rises on the back of his neck and he realizes he’s neglected to remove his coat.

“When I was seventeen,” he says, “I saw a shinigami.”

The story creaks from being stored away for so long and his voice doesn’t so much tremble as click like an unoiled gate. While his standard recitation of the events is dusty, his memories remain sharp photographs down to the bulging yellow eyes and black, springy feathers of what he saw—not unlike the ones on L’s counter.

“I found a weird black notebook at my school, took it home and that night the thing showed up. I got so freaked out that when he explained all the rules to me—told me it was a Death Note and how it could kill people—I said I didn’t want it anymore. He said fine, that I could give it up, but all my memories of the note would disappear too. But the next day, the note was missing and my memories of the Shinigami weren’t. At first, I was scared and thought it meant he might come back but weeks passed without a sign of him. My fear turned into curiosity so I began to study old legends, all kinds of weird stuff. Tried to find other people who had seen or heard about strange phenomenon like what I saw.”

The Beach Boys croon and Light sets his fork down. He looks at the watery remains of his dinner with the orange light reflecting off the melted ice. A tiny pit—black from years of rot—whistles in his heart as he comes to the sticking part of the story.

“No one believed me.” His tone is sandpaper scraping over his own teeth. “I told people what I saw. I told my parents and they said it was a fever from academic stress. I told my friends and they thought I was just crazy. It’s maddening to be dismissed like that and to still have my claims called false. Top student in Japan and I can’t get anyone to believe what I saw. So I decided to dedicate my life to proving there’s more going on in the world than people see. That there are supernatural elements at work and I can show they exist. Of course, so far I haven’t gotten much solid evidence since everyone thinks what I bring back is always a hoax.”

“But now you have something.” L interrupts and Light glances to him. His finger is hooked into his lower lip while he talks and shows his pink gums. Light wonders if L flosses. “You have me.”

“Yeah.” The pit in Light’s heart flutters. “I have you.”

“I have another question.”

“Oh?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Light inhales through his nose before whistling.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says. “I shouldn’t kiss my research subject.”

“Ah.” L finally looks at Light and grins. “What about kissing a friend?”

Light swallows. Dark eyes follow his hands as Light folds them on the table and pushes himself up. He leans toward L before reaching out to rub the bark on his cheek. Light’s fingers come away green from the moss. Well. He can always say this _is_ for research.

Without words, he nods and L’s hands come up to hold his face in place so he can press a kiss to Light’s lips. His mouth is rough but his gestures tender as his dirty fingers scratch Light’s skin. He’s warm—so much warmer than Light imagined—and licks along the seam of Light’s lips. Under L’s tongue, Light opens himself and brings his hands up to grip L’s wrists. All his moans slip through sharp teeth and land on the long tongue wrestling with his own. It tastes like bird blood.

L pulls away first and Light stares at his face. Besides his deep green blush, the bark on L’s skin sprouts tiny buds that twist from between the cracks. Light brushes his fingers against the little plants. L’s eyes shut, eyelids thin enough that their movement is visible underneath. His mouth still hangs open and Light slides his hand down to press a thumb to the bottom lip.

“Have you ever been kissed before?” He brings a knee up on the table and climbs on top. Stumble crawling, Light comes a hair away from L’s face. In response to his question, L shakes his head.

“I’ve read about it,” he says. “Always wanted to test it out.”

Pet Sounds ends and there’s only their collective breathing. Under his weight, the table creaks as Light closes the gap to kiss L again. He presses harder and is rewarded by L’s hands grabbing onto his hips. With a hard tug, he’s jerked forward until Light is forced to maneuver himself into L’s lap. Heat simmers in Light’s stomach from the wet slide of their mouths together.

Dizzy, Light leans back. His hands are on L’s shoulders and he squeezes them. The bark underneath cracks. L opens his eyes. Before Light thought they were a near pupil-less black but now, up close, L’s eyes are just dark grey. He wants to kiss him again and run his tongue over those sharp teeth. Beneath him, L’s dick hardens and a completely scientific curiosity fills Light.

“You’ve got little plants growing from you,” he says. “Does that happen when you’re aroused?”

“It happens when I’m happy.” L plucks a bud from his face and offers it to Light, who takes it and puts it in his pocket. “They don’t come very often.”

Light drags his hand down L’s chest to the hem of his sweater and tugs up. Underneath is skin patched over by bark that also bursts with tiny vines. He presses his palm flat to the bark and it rises as L breathes.

“Incredible.” He scratches the bark. “Can you feel that?”

Instead of speaking, L pushes his hands beneath Light’s sweater. They’re warm and send a pleasant shudder through him. L’s hands cover almost his whole stomach.

“Do you feel that?” L tilts his head as Light nods. “It’s the same for me. All of it is still my body. It’s all me.”

Light starts to speak but he doesn’t have anything else to say. He is surrounded by his situation, by the strange and wonderful place he finds himself in, and his words stick in his throat. L’s fingers don’t dig into him but they press. His skin dips under their weight like a marble carving—delicate but strong—and Light thinks he’s never been so held in his life.

His hand drops an inch and thumbs the button of L’s jeans. Light shakes but he’s not sure where to pin the blame for that. Part of him vibrates with a clear scientific interest but another part is nervous. He swallows hard and leans in to kiss L again. Tiny flowers brush his cheeks while Light opens his mouth.

“I can feel you down here.” Light strokes a finger over the outline of L’s dick. “Can I take it out? Touch it?”

“For research?” The grin on L’s face is a mocking whip and stings when it shines on Light. “Yes. Please.”

Undeterred, Light undoes L’s jeans. There’s no underwear to slow the reveal of his dick as it pops out. Light inhales through his nose with a little whistle noise at the thick, curved length of it. It’s flushed green but otherwise L’s dick bears no tree-like attributes. Light stops, bites his lip and takes out his tape measurer.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to measure you.” Light wishes his tone didn’t sound so apologetic. “It’s important. I want an accurate understanding of your physiology.”

He pulls the yellow tape taut next to L’s erect dick while L grumbles. Ah. Eight inches. Light swallows and puts the tape measurer back in his pocket. His thoughts turn deep into arousal—stupid, lurid images of all eight inches weighed on his tongue—and Light’s cheeks burn. L’s grumbles grow louder.

“Have you finished measuring?”

“Yes.” Light takes a breath with his mouth dry as a bone. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” L shuffles himself to sit up straighter and, in doing so, becomes aggressively his inhuman height. Light can’t meet his eyes. He’s afraid that if he looks at him and all his little green vines, L will see every horny thought in Light’s head.

He isn’t unused to being aroused. Light can count on one hand the number of partners he’s had but they weren’t puritanical in their mixings. Most were women—he only has so much disappointment he can deal his parents and paranormal research took up a lot of it—but men still featured. All of them looked at him the same way with the same blunt interest in their eyes. He was a want-able person, someone who deserved to be desired. Yet he never felt the same for the short list of people who warmed his bed.

Here, seated in L’s lap and brain going soft, he understands how to want someone.

“Nothing,” Light says. “I’m just distracted.”

“Ah.” L’s hands, still on Light’s stomach, turn and grip him by the waist. “Was it an interesting measurement?”

“It was—,” Light pauses, all the heat in his body concentrated to where L holds him, “—about what I expected. I’m sorry. I said I’d touch you, didn’t I?”

Summoning what moisture he can, Light spits into his palm and wraps his hand around L’s shaft. A hiss slices out from between L’s teeth and he jerks up into the movement. His dick is a hot, heavy weight in and thick enough that Light’s fingers can’t quite circle back together. He twists his wrist and pumps in long, slow pulls. Every time he rolls his thumb over the tip, L groans in a low, guttural timbre that sounds like a tree trunk bent out of shape.

Light’s gaze switches to L’s face. Yellow flowers start to blossom there as his hands quickens its pace and slick noise fills the cave. Hunger loosens his heart and Light leans in. His mouth doesn’t meet L’s but instead brushes his cheek. Tongue out, he presses it flat to bark and licks, slowly, until he catches a sunshine bud to pull free. When he pulls back, the flower is between his teeth.

“That hurt.” L speaks soft. His voice is hoarse between moans. “You’re going to eat me alive.”

Down his spine, Light feels himself unzip and his desires exposed. He bites and crushes the flower until its bitter taste spreads through his mouth. Between his legs is a small sun that flares when L’s hands tighten on his skin. He rocks his hips and shifts so that he grinds down on L’s thigh. His breath turns to dropped gasps as small as strawberry candy. They deepen as L slides his hand to the small of Light’s back and pushes him forward.

“Oh.” Light stops his hand and looks at L. Rocking his hips, a volt of pleasure hits him. “Oh!”

All his clothes are too tight. Light wriggles out of his parka, throws it aside and starts to pulls his sweater off. L’s hands brush his and slide down to grip him under his thighs. A groan escapes him as L stands and lifts him up, Light’s sweater falling onto the floor. From the table to the bed, they share a thousand small kisses.

The rickety bed squeals when L drops him on it and Light gasps. Cool air swarms his naked chest, pinching him until he shivers. Despite the chill, he scrambles out of his pants and kicks them off all while watching L. First, the white sweater peels away and then L fumbles, sliding down his jeans until he’s nude. Light’s bottom lip twitches. What he assumes is pre-come slicks the head of L’s dick and colors it a flushed emerald.

“Do you like what you see?”

Light licks his lips but makes no noise besides his hard footfalls of breath. L shifts, his limbs uncomfortable, and makes an aborted move to scratch himself. The action startles a laugh out of Light who remembers enough of himself to answer.

“I do.” He pulls himself upward to kneel in front of L and strokes one finger over his dick. The finger turns into his whole hand, palming the long, thick shaft and briefly fondling the balls. “I might need to examine it closer.”

“Oh?” L tilts his head and clicks his teeth in a sharp pleasured grimace as Light ducks his head, tongue swiping over him. “Oh.”

Light licks a stripe up the dick’s underside with his tongue flat to cover the surface. He takes a note—still as salty as other penises he’s tasted but with an odd brightness, almost like the taste of grass—and presses his lips to the tip. It’s a small kiss, just long enough that his lips come away glossy in the center, and he pulls back. L coughs and Light flicks his gaze upward. Grey eyes study him and play tender predator to his features.

“Do you like what you see?” Light’s words are even but he shivers as L set his hands tight on his shoulders. “You taste strange. Different.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. You taste a little like the forest.”

“Mm.” L pushes until Light’s back hits the bed. His hands continue to hold Light down as he climbs on and hunches over. Facial features—eyes, nose and brows—are too shadowed to be seen but when L talks, his teeth shine. “Will you write how I taste in your notes? What will you say?”

“I’ll say you taste like grass.” Light squirms as L’s mouth descends on his neck. It kisses and sucks a path down to his nipple, tongue rolling over it. “Ah ha. Oh. You taste bitter too but a fresh bitter. Sort of like the flowers.”

L licks over Light’s nipple again while his hand teases the other. He swipes his thumbs over the scars beneath but doesn’t make any mention of them. His touch is a gentle exploration that glides over Light’s body until his fingers hook into Light’s briefs. Their eyes meet again and L kisses the trail of hair leading toward Light’s crotch.

“I wonder how you might taste?”

L’s tone is curious as he nuzzles the ridge of Light’s packer. His heart, his head and his body vibrate from excited pleasure. Light bends his knees and stretches his legs open so L’s head fits between his thighs.

“One way to find out,” he says.

…

Light wakes up wrapped in cowboy sheets and L’s arms. He turns, laughs at the sight of L’s feet hanging off the bed and kisses him. All the flowers shrink back into the bark but L’s hands still clutch him close.

Breakfast is a protein bar for Light and a mysterious handful of meat for L. He doesn’t explain what the meat is. While he eats, Light fills his notes with last night’s observations. Like a true professional, he leaves out no details and sketches L’s dick as best he can. Light shows L the picture and his response is vague but supportive.

“You captured the spirit of it,” he says.

After packing up and getting distracted twice by L kissing his neck, Light declares himself ready to go. A warm hand stops him two steps out of the cave and he turns, facing L. Wide eyes regard him and needle teeth—shining with bits of meat between them—are revealed by a thin lipped smile.

“I’ll come with you,” L says. “To make sure you don’t get lost.”

The walk is a short one. Light rides on L’s shoulders for most of the trip and pretends he isn’t in the most pleasant state of fearfulness in his life. Wind tumbles through his hair and catches on the sleep-made clumps. Every once in a while, he squeezes his thighs around L’s neck and receives a pleased grumble.

“Just follow the pink flags.” Light weaves his hands into L’s hair and scratches his scalp. He’s not sure if he heard correctly, but it sounds like L purred so he does it again. His hearing was correct; another purr follows as he massages through the tangled locks.

“I know how to get to the edge of the forest.” L fails to distribute any genuine annoyance in his statement, instead sounding conversational. “I live here. I know where everything is.”

“Do you know where my bike is?” Light waits and grins at L’s telling silence. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Look, up there—,” he points ahead to a flash of neon pink, “—that’s the first flag.”

L walks in a stunted stride and tries to avoid small animals when he can. A few rabbits don’t run fast enough and L has to peel the flattened corpses off his feet. Light blanches when the bodies go into L’s jean pocket. To distract himself, Light asks after L’s book collection. The conversation isn’t fascinating—a little boring actually since Light’s not much of a reader himself—but, for a moment, he enjoys not being fascinated. He watches the clear blue of the morning sky filter through the tree tops as L’s voice vibrates through Light.

Following the flags takes them a good chunk of the morning and, when they reach his bike, Light’s watch reads eleven thirty. L crouches down to let him climb off. Being on the ground again is strange and not as comforting as Light expected. He kisses L’s cheek and arranges another meeting tomorrow in their previous spot. The bike is unhappy at being left locked to a tree and whines when Light gets on but he pedals away without much trouble. When he hits the first sidewalk of the town, he looks over his shoulder and sees L, almost unrecognizable next to two pine trees, waving at him still.

Light flushes and waves back.

…

Between the teeth of September’s days, Light goes into the woods again and again to meet L. Sometimes he brings his camera to take photos although L isn’t used to being recorded and every image turns out blurry. Clearer photos go into his notebook next to quick bullet points on their activities including two nude ones. L, despite his initial balking at the camera, enjoys flaunting himself for Light to see.

Light devours whatever L gives him but finds himself being coaxed out of his own stories. He suspects that the fingers L combs through his hair have wanted something more challenging to untangle and Light is such a tempting knot. They trade unusual wares and ask for candy, kisses or teeth—a single fang in Light’s possession following his payment of the story of his first broken bone—in exchange for answers. While L never keeps notes, his eyes swallow everything. All the solved case files around his cave make more sense after weeks spent under his intense but exciting investigation.

To be honest, Light enjoys the whole mess. The even tug of his conversations with L amuse him more than his previous investigations. Warm in L’s bed, tucked against the rigid bark of his chest and pleasantly sick from a good orgasm, there’s little that Light worries about beyond being sticky the next morning. There’s no time to even interrogate Wammy, who’s gone on a trip to London for what he says is “business” but Light thinks might be a need to create a convincing lie.

Yet the purpose behind his investigation knocks on his skull harder and harder as September ends. All his research has begun to congeal into a paper written on days he spends locked up at the Wammy house. His paper is the slow digestion of every story, laugh and meal L shares. He finishes the first draft—much too long at thirty pages—and sends it to the school publication for review. While he waits for a response, he buys a pile of new CDs for L and they make out while each one plays. He tries to only feel the tongue in his mouth and fingers in his hair but no matter how Light turns himself, time continues to spin.

He blinks and October begins.

…

Sharp morning air whistles by Light’s ears and provides a soundtrack to his hectic mind. His bike wheels whine just loud enough that Light can’t distinguish his thoughts from the click of rusted wheel spokes. They wind together as he thinks.

He met with L yesterday—click. He’s been meeting with L almost every day—click. And spending the night like he did last night—click. Big hands around his waist and groans that sink river deep when L presses his mouth to Light’s ear—click. Kisses and talking, soft, until he falls asleep on L’s chest—click.

Light shakes his head in an attempt to unbind his thoughts. His bag thumps at his side while he pedals faster away from the woods. Inside his bag is his notebook with all the research he’s collected so far—click. Research that has been filed and tied together into what he considers the first draft of a paper—click. This paper is going to change his life—click. L is changing his life—click. He can’t stay here forever—click.

He brakes at Wammy’s house and looks at its red front. A string of white paper ghosts swings across the porch rail and flutters to the right. Light swallows a hunk of spit along with the rest of his tumbled thoughts. The mailbox flag is down. A cream colored envelope bearing his university’s address sits amongst several supermarket fliers. It doesn’t have much weight but the envelope is heavy in Light’s hand none the less. Mail stuffed under his arm, Light pushes the bike around the house and goes in the back door.

Inside the house is a Halloween war zone. Mello and Near haven’t decided on their costumes but they involve an excess of felt. Today, the kids sit at the dining room table with their own, less scientific notes spilled into mountains of yellow paper. Light slinks in and winces at the door’s nasty squeal.

“Hey!” Near yells from his chair and points his marker. “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you?”

His voice carries the same note of childish neediness that Mello’s usually does with a flatness to it that implies that Light is the central cause for that immaturity.  Light continues to walk as he answers and drops the grocery fliers down with a feigned casualty. He slips his own letter into his bag.

“I was out,” he says. “Doing my work.”

“Is your _work_ why you have all those leaves in your hair?” Mello’s question is clumsily sly but Light still cringes and slips a hand through his hair. Sure enough, a few orange leaves fall out. His embarrassment mixes with fondness; L’s foliage has started to turn with the season.

“That’s none of your business.” Light keeps walking through the dining room, unsurprised when he hears rustling behind him. The kids follow him into the living room and carry their supplies along as well. “Why are you following me? Don’t you have stuff to do?”

“You see that monster a lot,” Near says. “Wammy says that you and the monster are friends. Is that true?”

“He’s not a monster.” The word strikes Light hard and he stops. It hadn’t occurred to him before but, in truth, he hates the word monster. “L is something else.”

“Well.” Mello stops as well, hands gripping fat collections of markers. “What is he then?”

Light takes a soft breath. He wishes his heart didn’t shake when he answers.

“I don’t know. But yes. He’s my friend.”

Near hums. He has yellow notebook paper clutched to his chest and a pensive expression. Shuffling over, he sits down on the love seat, dumps the papers onto the table and looks up. His eyes are the same sharp grey as L’s but have a millimeter less kindness. They are studying Light for less romantic reasons than L’s do.

“You know a lot about monsters,” Near says. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know anything about _monsters._ ” Light speaks with a sniff. “My work is in paranormal research. I study cryptids and other unexplained phenomenon. Not nightmare fuel.”

“Whatever.” Both kids roll their eyes in unison while Near sifts through his papers. “I don’t really care what you call them. What I care about is you helping me and Mello come up with good costumes.”

“Yeah.” Mello holds out a black marker to Light. “What ‘cryptids and unexplained phenomenon’ would really scare the neighbors?”

Two desires pull at Light. On one hand, he wants to get back to his desk so he can compile his notes and refine his paper. Yet, on the other hand, rarely has he ever been offered such a prime opportunity to do his favorite activity—unload a massive quantity of information onto willing subjects. His hesitation lasts all of seven seconds before Light throws his bag down and takes a seat. He digs out his notebook and thumbs through the first few pages.

“How scary do you want to go?”

Morning sun dwindles into the golden glow of afternoon. Mello migrates onto the couch next to Near where they compile a list from Light’s suggestions. Well, suggestions is one way to describe what he’s given them. A lecture is closer to the truth. Wammy comes through the front door right as Light regales the kids with a story of a botched research trip to Lake Ikeda. He’s at the part where his university assigned guide revealed, in the middle of the lake, that he couldn’t swim but Wammy cuts him off.

“It’s good to see you all getting along,” he says. “But I’d like to speak to Light in my office, if you two don’t mind.”

“Please.” Near doesn’t look up from his paper where, in the margins, he’s drawn a small bat. “I stopped listening after an hour.”

Indignity stops up Light’s throat and an argument follows behind it. He opens his mouth but glances to Wammy, who keeps a warm but firm gaze on him. Sniffing, Light gathers his things and bids the kids a final, disappointed look before going after Wammy. Neither of them notice since Mello starts an argument about Near’s drawing that Light hears only the faded beginnings of.

Wammy’s office is behind a green door next to the stairway leading up to the second floor where the kids sleep. Inside, he tosses his hat onto a coat rack and his coat he dumps onto an overstuffed armchair. Bookshelves cover the walls from ceiling to floor and worn spines stare out, their gold titles spelled out in flat serif fonts. A few empty spots appear on them like missing teeth. He swings behind his desk but doesn’t sit. Instead, he gestures for Light to take a seat in the chair facing him. Light perches there despite the stuffing spilling out and stews in his own politeness.

“I haven’t gotten to see you much in the past month,” Wammy says. “Your paper must be coming along well with all that research.”

Light’s cheeks color and he clears his throat.

“I sent the first draft to my university,” he says, “and just got back something from them today. I’m hopeful.”

“Hopeful for what?”

Dim silence is all Light responds with. What is he hopeful for? Wammy doesn’t wait for him to keep talking which Light’s grateful for. Another moment in his thoughts and he might burst from confusion. Instead, a pile of folders drops into his lap. He looks up to Wammy, who smiles and clicks his tongue before, finally, slipping into his chair. Fingers steepled together, Wammy leans his elbows onto the desk and inhales. His nose whistles.

“Will you give these to him?”

Light frowns and shifts. The old chair squeaks beneath him and protests the movement. He’s been waiting for this moment to spring all his questions. His lips pop open, an accusation lounging on his tongue, but Wammy puts a hand up.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue again. “The question was too direct. I skipped ahead in the conversation. Let’s start at the beginning.”

“You’re the one giving L the cases.” Light speaks sharply and without question. “Is that the beginning you’re talking about?”

“In some ways, yes.”

“Why are you making him do the cases?” Light plows past Wammy’s open mouth and continues his questions. “How did you find him? Why didn’t you tell me about him when I came or, at the very least, tell me you knew he existed?”

Wammy removes his small, circular glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. His face is a root system of wrinkles that stems from his forehead to his cheeks. More grey streams through his moustache and well brushed hair than Light’s father. Despite him being older, Wammy’s mouth is a touch less serious than Light remembers his father’s being. Perhaps that is because Light has never told Wammy that he wasn’t going to join the police force but he can’t be sure.

“You’re never going to be satisfied with my answer.” A ring—thick and silver—shines on Wammy’s left hand as he replaces his glasses. “I suspect about you, Light, that you enjoy a bit of drama. Unfortunately, my relationship with L isn’t so fanciful. I met him during a hike.”

“I was a professor of business in my earlier years and amassed some money from various inventions of mine. But I always had an interest in the criminal justice system so I kept tabs on some high profile cases in my spare time. Friends of mine in police organizations were always happy to part with classified information for the right price, however, I wasn’t much of a detective myself. My lack of deductive skill frustrated me and when I got the chance to take a short holiday, I did. I came to this small town intending to spend quiet time with the cases. But I couldn’t help the desire to explore nature and that’s when I stumbled on the creature.”

“You mean L.” Light tightens his grip on the folders when Wammy gives him a confused expression. “You said ‘the creature.’ You mean L, right?”

“Yes. L. During my hike, he sprung out at me and asked why I was nosing around in his home. Of course, I insisted I was doing nothing like that and eventually we came to a short agreement. If I brought him things to enjoy, things of interest, he wouldn’t eat me. Although now, when I think back on it, I doubt he ever intended to eat me. So I started to bring him books, which he relished, and noticed his particular interest in mysteries. The case files were a risk I took but after he solved the first one, I couldn’t bring them fast enough. I expect you’ve already seen them around his little cave. I’ve never been inside that place but I imagine it’s something of a mess.”

Wammy pauses and sighs. He lowers his hands to the desk, presses his thumbs together and looks at Light. The skin around his eyes crinkles so much that their color is almost undetectable except for a hint of brown. Information shuffles around in Light’s head until he has it sorted the way he wants. Shifting again in his chair, he considers an unpleasant realization.

“You sent that package.” His voice is a rock couched in a whisper. “Was I something of interest for L?”

“You’ll have to admit that a young researcher with the honors that you have might be more engaging to L than just another manila folder.”

“I see.” Light stands and tucks the folders into bag. “Thank you for telling me what you have, Mr. Wammy. I need to go out for a bit.”

He turns and his body is cardboard as he walks. Wammy calls to him and says to tell L hello for him but Light doesn’t pay any attention. Out the door, past the kids arguing and through the back door, his mind spins in some parts anger, some parts disappointment. With one admittance from Wammy Light can see the strings around his limbs being pulled and he wants to scream. Instead, he hops on the bike and pedals off to wherever isn’t the house.

He rides to the edge of woods by muscle memory. Light drops the bike next to a tree, doesn’t bother to lock it and stalks off down a path he knows without pink flags. While he walks, he remembers his unopened letter and rummages it out of his bag. Using his fingernail, he slices it open and pulls out the nice stationary.

His footsteps stall out the moment he reads the first word: _Congratulations._ After a deep breath, Light continues to read and walk. Sun turns to small drips as he goes further into the trees and branches curl overhead. He squints but the words all come together the same. This letter is an acceptance. This letter is a celebration of his work and never mentions incorrect facts. There’s no mention of fantasy or crazy ideas.

_We’d like to publish your piece once it has been completed._

Light’s hands tighten on the paper, shaking, and his breath comes out heavy. Even as he approaches the worn door of L’s cave, his attention is sunk into the praise written in front of him. It’s only when the door creaks open that he looks away and he can’t help his first words in hours being excited ones.

“They’re taking my paper!”

Light steps back after he shouts—surprised at his own volume. L peeks out from the door frame with a wide, sharp toothed smile. Blood speckles his lower lip—someone’s been eating dead rabbits—and he reaches out to pull Light in. The realizations from before descend on Light as warm hands enfold his waist. His heart goes bitter and he doesn’t move when L kisses him. He can’t help his eyes closing, however, because god, L is so warm in the cold afternoon.

A moment passes and L pulls back. Confusion makes his features appear softer and less narrow. His thumb rolls over Light’s hip again and again.

“You’re upset.” His tone is declarative and doesn’t allow Light to argue. “What’s happened? Is there something wrong?”

Light’s teeth feel dry and he runs his tongue over them rather than speak. Is something wrong? A stake has been struck between himself and his pride. Being manipulated, even slightly, by Wammy sours how good it feels when L looks at him with complete engagement. Yet, in front of him now, Light can’t disentangle himself from his excitement when he sees L, his enjoyment of his company. Where comfortable loneliness once resided in him has now been taken over by the utter contentment of having someone want him. His silence has gone on too long and L blinks expectantly.

“I’m just conflicted.” Light coughs without need and avoids direct eye contact. “Once my paper is finished, I’ll have to leave.”

“Oh. I see.” L doesn’t stop the slow circle of his thumb and it echoes through Light’s bones. “Is your paper finished?”

“No. Not quite.”

“Then you don’t have to leave yet?”

Soft seconds pass and Light shakes his head. The hard clutch of his bitterness loosens and breaks into small, crumbled pieces the longer he stays in L’s hands. He looks up and back.

“I guess I don’t,” he says. “I guess I need to do a little more research, if you’re up to it.”

L nods, smile returning, and moves to wipe the blood from his mouth. Heart in his throat, Light grabs his wrist and stops L. He presses his thumb into the palm and pulls the hand away. As he does, Light leans in until he smells the wet, raw crawl of meat on L’s breath.

“Not yet.”

His lips smooth over L’s in a sweet kiss. The blood clicks as they move together, sticking to Light as he pulls himself deep into L. He hums and pushes hard against those sharp teeth, those greedy hands and the low growl at the back of L’s tongue. His mind spins easy without a clock ticking.

Something brushes his cheek and Light peeks an eye open. A green bud grows from L and rests on Light’s skin. Between his fingers, he pinches the stem and plucks the bud out, swallowing L’s pained whine. Light tucks it in his pocket.

 _Proof,_ he thinks and grins.


	2. Cryptid Halloween Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone goes trick or treating

October bustles through with obligations spilling from its pockets. Two days after Light received his congratulations, another envelope arrived full of edits for his paper. He looks at the flurry of red marks and side notes while holed up in his Wammy house room and a thrill shoots through him. More work to be done.

But his paper isn’t the sole owner of Light’s time. Mello and Near decide that his expertise in paranormal creatures is not the only thing he can contribute to their costume quest. Instead, his duties extend to accompanying them to the town’s second hand clothing store in order to verify what can and can’t be used in a cryptid costume. He’s also pushed into escorting them because Wammy, ever an errant figure, disappears the second week of October and leaves Light as their lone adult chaperone.

“How would Mothman feel if I wore a turtleneck?” Mello holds up a black ribbed sweater decorated with a thousand dandruff specks. Thin crescents of chocolate are caught beneath his stubbed fingernails. “Or is that going to look weird?”

“Mothman doesn’t wear clothes.” Light flicks his attention from Mello back to the wheezing rack of clothes he’s been flipping through. He thumbs over a XXL purple sweatshirt—branded by pink letters that say Wine Not—and thinks about L’s muddy clothes. It goes over his arm along with the green compression shirt Near wants. “And that’s not the right color. Find something brown.”

“Ugh,” Mello groans. “Fine.”

On the other side of the store, Near fiddles with the twisted plastic toy bags. Light glances at both kids every few minutes to make sure they don’t die and continues to push through the big and tall section. The three of them are the only ones in the store besides a cashier who hides behind a National Enquirer paper and blares eighties pop. Coiled synth and warbled singing makes every song sound like it comes through a fun house mirror and it’s all played at maximum volume. Once Light finds a sufficient horde of things and the kids pile their own wants in his arms, they trundle up to the register.

All their items thump down loud enough for the cashier to peek over their paper and squint. Light’s breath stops in his throat. Above the “My Baby is an Alien: Ask Me Why _”_ headline, a pair of gleaming maroon eyes stare back at him. Mello chokes before a grin swipes up his face.

“Beyond!” His voice leaps. “You’re alive!”

“Yeah.” The paper folds in half and reveals a roughly shaven, near handsome face. Beyond’s mouth is big and flat lipped like a Muppet’s although his strong jawline makes up for it. Down his right side, a raised burn scar descends from his widow’s peak over the jut of his chin. His eyes bug out from his face and roll over Light like a lint roller. “They let me out of the clink early because I was real good at arts n’ crafts.”

“Makes sense.” Near’s expression remains cool but his gaze is as adoring as Mello’s. “Is this your music?”

“Yup. Siouxsie and the Banshees.” Beyond pulls the purple sweatshirt off their pile and snorts. “Criminy. Did that old guy get a growth spurt while I was gone?”

“No.” Mello leans his elbow on the counter and cups his mouth in a secretive gesture. Defeating the purpose of the cupped hand, however, is the finger he points at Light. “It’s for his boyfriend. He’s a cryptid.”

“Mello,” Light hisses. “Do you ever think anything you _don’t_ say?”

“Oh,” Beyond says. “Do you mean the big tree guy in the woods?”

“Yes. That’s him.” Light crams his hands into his parka pockets as they grow sweaty. Beyond’s attention is still stuck to him and his chuckle lifts the hair on the back of Light’s neck. “Could you ring up our things, please?”

“Sure, sure.” The muppet mouth opens into a smile and shows off the top row of Beyond’s yellow teeth. “The sweatshirt for the big guy? I don’t know if that’s his style.”

Light flattens his tongue to prevent himself from arguing. It presses to his teeth and sticks to the roof of his mouth. He waits while Mello and Near attack Beyond with questions about prison life. All his answers balloon a little too big for them to be true but Light stays quiet. Instead of talk, he studies Beyond’s eyes which flash between the kids in frantic amusement. With them wide open, the maroon shines a little redder in the fluorescents of the store. Whenever they fall on Light, he stares back but doesn’t say anything. Beyond winks and a flush snaps over Light’s cheeks. He turns his attention to the raised rough skin of the scar. It seems to continue past the collar of his shirt—a gossamer thin short sleeve with a bad drawing of Sailor Moon flipping someone off.

“Alright.” Sloppily folding their clothes and single bag of plastic dinosaurs into a kraft paper sack, Beyond punches the keypad on an aging register. Its distorted clicking almost drowns out the next wild pop song that comes on. “That’s going to be forty eighty five. Cash or card?”

From his back pocket, Light pulls out his wallet and hands Beyond a black bank card. A shiver runs through him when the fingers that take the card drag against Light’s for a second too long. He snatches it back once Beyond’s finished and jams the receipt into the paper sack. Mello and Near linger in the store to see the scar Light only glimpsed but he waits for them outside.

The forest is visible from the second hand store but only a thin strip of trees shows. Light catches a layer of mist pulling over their green tops. He licks his lips and glances at the purple fabric peeking from the sack’s opening. Today will be a good day to give L a visit.

…

Halloween has never been one of Light’s preferred holidays. His work in paranormal phenomenon increased his apathy for all kinds of spooky fun and, well, invitations to costume parties dried up soon after he started critiquing the outfits for accuracy. Yet, as he bikes through the town toward the woods, he can’t escape the flood of Halloween decorations. Pumpkins grin from the porch railing of most houses and a few cheesecloth ghosts spike out different yards.

He frowns and readjusts his bag where it’s started to droop from added clothing weight. Once he hits the tree line, Light breathes easier. No plastic bats or fake tombstones appear within the woods. Yet his thoughts still turn to Halloween while he locks up the bike and steps onto his well-worn path. Last year, he spent the holiday on a boat with a disgruntled captain who was upset he missed out on sexy cat costumes to ferry Light around the local loch. He was alone, in theory, for most holidays. But now someone existed for him to share things with.

Leaves lose their crunch the further he walks from the damp misted air. Light wonders whether L ever celebrated Halloween or if Wammy gave him candy.  He had to know about the holiday with all the books he’s read. Halfway to L’s cave, rain hits and soaks Light so he jogs the rest of the path. His boots sink into the mud with ugly guttural slaps. The door handle is slick and his hand slips before it turns, slowly, to let him in.

A bright saxophone tune plays through the cave as he walks. Light grins when he realizes it’s the Japanese disco CD Sayu sent him in a care package which he re-gifted to L with the utmost honor. His first glimpse of L is his back as he sits hunched over on the couch and makes a clicking noise. Sticks tangle in his curls and almost form a crown around his head. The hem of his sweater is jagged with faded red blood stains.

Light whistles and L goes still. He looks over his shoulder and his eyes widen when they catch Light’s. A long curl of a smile pulls back L’s lips until his teeth on full display—sharp white needles in two happy rows.

“Hi.” Light waits for L to turn full around and steps into his space, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You smell like you just ate.”

“Mm.” A whiff of metallic raw breath washes over Light as L talks. “Not rabbit. Something bigger. Guess.”

“Are you going to make me guess what animal you ate?”

“I am.” L flicks the zipper of Light’s bag and slips his other hand behind his back. “Guess. If you’re right, you get a prize.”

“Alright.” Light leans his nose close to L’s teeth and inhales. The smell is wet and near sour like a hot phone. He sniffs again and kisses L. His tongue swipes over the needle teeth until a particular taste strikes him. Pulling back, Light rolls the spit they swapped around his mouth with a thoughtful expression. “Is it deer? Did you eat a deer?”

“Just a little one,” L says. “Found it with a broken leg. There’s some leftover in the icebox, if you’re hungry.”

“That’s awful. I don’t eat babies.” Light kisses the corner of L’s mouth. “Where’s my prize?”

L moves his hand from behind his back and takes hold of Light’s wrist. His grip is gentle but strong as he twists it until the palm is face up. A faint haze of heat swells in Light’s stomach from the way L squeezes, his fingers raw and rough on the thin skin.

The prize lands in his hand and L releases him. Light doesn’t hesitate to examine the small art piece he’s given and faint awe surrounds his observations. A collection of sticks have been tied together with string to form a strange, jagged star shape. White, sharp and bound to the center of the star is one of L’s teeth. Its head is still painted with the bright red of fresh blood.

Touching the string leaves Light’s fingertips damp and, when he gives him a questioning look, L sighs.

“Guess.” L bores holes into Light’s face with his gaze. Light meets it with his own intense stare which is accompanied by a smirk. He fingers the tooth and rubs his thumb over the sticks. His heart is heavy with love.

“Intestines?” His question is met with a nod. Light laughs. “Of course. I like it. Good craftsmanship.”

With the stick star in one hand, Light reaches his other one back to open his bag and pull out the thrift store paper sack. He drops it into L’s lap and sits next to him so he can kick off his boots. While L fiddles with the sack—his confusion is genuine and stutters his hands—Light slips the star down next to his notebooks and pens. Bag pushed off and onto the floor, he reclines onto a stained decorative pillow and pushes his socked feet beneath L’s thigh.

The sack crinkles as L pulls out the first item—the purple sweatshirt. He holds it up by the shoulders, thumbs rubbing the tiny fabric pills, and his tongue sticks out a centimeter. After staring for a moment at the words, he puts it to his face and sniffs. His nose wrinkles.

“Mm,” L says. “Strange scent.”

“You need new clothes,” Light says and sits up briefly to tug the mangled hem of L’s sweater. “This one is getting rotten. Do you like it?”

“I will wear it.” Between his long fingers, L folds the sweatshirt into a little square and sets it aside. “But it smells like old things. I’ll wash it in the creek later.”

Light closes his eyes and laces his fingers together over his stomach. They lift up and down with his breathing as he nearly falls asleep to L’s crinkling commentary on his gifts. All the clothes are the biggest sizes Light found although he knows almost none of them will be a perfect fit. Some are wishful thinking on his part about what L should wear—a wool suit jacket he found undeniably handsome—and others are just replacements like the purple sweatshirt. He didn’t even try to find new pants. L’s height would make any jeans Light gave him high waters.

Silence becomes steady and Light peeks an eye open. L holds a black long sleeve in his hands with a thoughtful squint to his expression. Ah. Light sits up and crosses his arms on top of his bended knees. From there, he looks down at the black shirt with the grinning pumpkin plastered over the front. Beneath the pumpkin are big cartoonish letters spelling out “Trick or Treat” and at the end of the left sleeve is a hole. Light makes a note to mend that on a different day.

“This is a jack-o-lantern,” L says. “You’ve gotten me a Halloween shirt.”

“I did.” Light shuffles closer and L leans the rest of the way. His hand wraps around Light’s ankle and rubs circles over the bone as Light talks. “I was wondering what you do for Halloween. Do you celebrate? Scare people?”

“It’s my birthday.”

Light freezes and sucks in his next breath. As he does, L’s nail scrapes him and he hisses. His feet wriggle against the denim covered ridges of L’s thigh.

“Your birthday?” His tone caves into incredulity. “Halloween is your birthday?”

“Yes.” L turns to Light and tilts his head. “I’m going to be four hundred and sixty one. Does our age difference bother you?”

“I don’t think about it.” Light waves his hand as though pushing the subject away. “So what do you do for your Halloween birthday?”

L snaps his tongue to his teeth and scratches his head. He gives a loud sniff before squeezing Light’s ankle. A grin sharpens the corners of his mouth.

“You first,” he says. “What do you do for your birthday?”

“Nothing.” Light laughs. Even to him, the sound is cheap plastic so he rushes to cover it up. “I don’t like birthdays. Your turn.”

Wide eyed, a laugh startles out of L and his hand moves from Light’s ankle to his cheek. His caress is hard enough that the cheek fat rubs on Light’s teeth like a flat bone grate. Curling his fingers beneath his chin, L tugs Light in.

“Sometimes you talk,” he says, “and the words are the most familiar melody. I do nothing for my birthday as well.”

Their lips touch but hover between intimacies. A kiss is too close and a conversation is too far. L’s chapped lips scrape on Light’s which are slippery from repeated use of Carmex. His breath mingles with L’s as his body vibrates trying to decide where to move, what to say. Light settles on tilting his head forward to catch the kiss hidden in the corner of L’s mouth. He prefers to be too close anyway.

“So you’ve never done anything to celebrate Halloween?” Light speaks into the kiss until L pulls back enough for him to talk clearly. “Never hung out around town or anything?”

“Sometimes children come into the forest to try and see me.” L hums. “If they look too scared, I let them just run around and I stay behind the trees. But if they’re rude, I give them a little chase. Nothing too scary.”

Light fights an embarrassing excitement that grows when he thinks of L in a predatory crouch before springing after some screaming kid. His mind—a surefire traitor—supplies various images of L’s clawed hands digging into the earth and his strong, tall legs working in a bestial run. The way his muscles would flex with the same raw energy that they might have when fucking Light. Not that he’s taken L’s dick in him. Not yet.

“I don’t really do much for Halloween either.” Light’s mouth throws down tracks in an attempt to detour the runaway train of his arousal. “But I thought maybe this year you might like to celebrate together.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yes.” Light nods. “Have you ever read about trick or treating?”

…

Mello and Near, upon hearing Light’s plan to trick or treat with them, insist they don’t need a chaperone. At twelve and ten respectively, they aren’t _babies_ and refuse to be treated as such. Light reminds them that he isn’t doing this out of concern for their safety but because he plans to take L out and it’s easier for everyone to go together. Once they realize they get to meet the big creature from the woods, the kids’ protests dry up. Instead, the weeks leading up to Halloween become entirely about what they’re going to ask the creature to break for them.

“He’s not a toy,” Light says. “You can’t just use him like a nutcracker.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Mello jots down something on one of their endless yellow notepads. “We’ll ask him to smash some walnuts in his hands.”

The living room on Halloween night is chaos contained by three walls. On television, Mulder tells Scully he saw his sister in a dream while Near pats green face paint over his cheeks and Mello hot glues a feather back onto his wings. Light sits on the love seat, legs crossed and his arms wrapped over his knee. He taps his thumbs together with a slow but frantic air to him as he checks out the front window every five seconds.

“When did you tell him to be here?” Near clicks his tongue and looks at Light.

“I told him five thirty.” Light pushes the chintzy red curtains back and squints down the road. “He’s always about a half an hour late.”

“Then why do you keep checking out the window?” Stretching his bald cap over his head, Near tucks the last white strands of his hair into it and begins to paint it green as well. “It’s just five forty now.”

Purple and pink drip through the evening sky and, one by one, the street lamps flick on. Light squints and a wild grin swipes across his face as the last lamp showers down yellow light on a tall, hunched figure.

“He’s early,” Light says. “He’s actually early.”

Mello leaps to his feet and pushes his face to the window. His wide eyes scan the road until they find L and he reaches back for Near.

“C’mon!” He smacks the window for emphasis. “You gotta see this guy walk.”

All three of them sit lined up at the window to watch L slouch along the pavement and duck to avoid power lines and lamp lights. His gait is quick but loose with his long legs swooping out steps like wet noodles thrown out in front of him. As he passes them, every front window lights up and the curtains part until the entire street population mimics Mello, Near and Light watching L until he stops at their porch.

Light runs from the love seat to throw the door open and rushes out. His chest flutters from a sense of polite embarrassment—god, what a spectacle this is—and the unfamiliar but pleasant joy that came from seeing L in the yard. He is cut out of the fantasy Light lives in the forest and pasted directly onto the reality of the front porch. L coughs and tugs on the black jack-o-lantern shirt which doesn’t quite cover his stomach.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“No.” Light steps in and puts a hand on L’s hip. “It’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”

Whispers come from the doorway and Light turns. Mello and Near peek around the frame with twin looks of suspicious awe. The first to charge out is Mello but he stops a little behind Light and clasps his hands in front of him. Near shuffles onto the porch next and stands next to Light. He tilts his gaze up and stuffs his hands in his green corduroy pockets. L bends and their grey eyes match each other in attention.

“Hello.” L smiles and his needle teeth flash. Near’s shoulders lift but his expression remains cool. Behind him, Mello grumbles about not having any walnuts. “Which one are you?”

“I’m Near.” A moment passes and Near points at Mello. “He’s Mello. Those are our code names.”

“Oh. Are you spies?”

“No. Just really cool.” Mello gets closer and leans his arm on Near in feigned casualness. “Have you ever eaten someone?”

“Yes.” L chews on his thumbnail and winks at Light. Half of their last meeting had been a briefing on what questions the kids would ask. The other half was a great deal of oral sex. “But I don’t anymore. What are your costumes?”

A short fashion show ensues. Mello holds out his arms to show the impressive wing-span he’s rigged up for his Mothman costume and L compliments his black turtleneck. Light attempts to correct them on Mothman’s coloring but is cut off by Mello shouting at L to look at his boots that he’s hot glued claws to. Near’s presentation is milder but Light is much more complimentary of his Kappa costume. While he’s already in his green compression shirt and corduroys, the final element—a brown backpack to simulate a shell—still sits in the house. L tells him the costume is very bold.

“What are you supposed to be?” L asks Light as the kids go back inside to finish their work. “You look the same.”

“I’m not.” A pair of fangs stick out from Light’s open mouth smile. He pokes one with his finger and wiggles it. “I’m a vampire, see?”

L doesn’t say anything. Instead, he peers into Light’s mouth with his eyes almost entirely encompassed by his black pupils. His breathing huffs out into deep footfalls and he touches one fake fang.

“Oh.” The single word is uttered in a heavy tone—one that Light has become intimately familiar with. “I like them. You look dangerous.”

Without thinking, Light closes his mouth against L’s finger and presses a small kiss there. From beneath his eyelashes, he broadcasts as much desire as he can. His hand, still on L’s hip, spreads into a flat palm so he can caress the warm bark under the jack-o-lantern shirt. He settles his thumb in a crevice and uses his hold on L to steady himself as he lifts onto his toes. When he talks, he speaks right to L’s face.

“You look dangerous too,” he says. “But you always do.”

“And that’s what Light likes?” L wraps his arm beneath Light’s legs and pulls him up until he’s against his chest. “Danger?”

“I like you.” Both of his hands come to hold L’s face and Light maneuvers both their mouths into a hard kiss. His body flushes with heat—warm not just from the closeness of L but how much more real he feels standing in Wammy’s front yard. “I love—”

“Excuse me,” Near shouts. “We’re ready to go.”

Light gags on his last sentence and embarrassment swallows him. He pats L’s chest, clears his throat and pats L again so he’ll put him down.

“If you and your boyfriend are done,” Mello says, “then let’s go hit the houses.”

While Light straights out his cardigan and jeans, the kids hand L his small plastic trick or treat bucket. Over its black outside are swirling drawings of ghosts and scary faces which eventually twisted together to say “Happy Halloween.” L marvels at the artistic work and pride shines off Near.

“I drew it,” he says and, when Mello elbows him in the side. “Oh, yeah. Mello is the one who did the writing part. I did the ghosts and stuff.”

“It’s your first Halloween, kind of.” Mello twists his gloved hands together. “We thought it should be special.”

L nods with a great deal of solemnity.

“You did a good job,” he says. “Thank you very much.”

Each house they go to has a different but similar reaction to L and his candy bucket. One women opens the door, looks up and screams in silent, unyielding horror. Near and Mello wait for her to hand them candy but when it’s clear she won’t move, they take two pieces and give L a third piece. Several people ask what L is supposed to be and, before he can tell them, Light launches into the thesis of his paper. After two minutes of scientific jargon thrown at them, the people put a handful of candy in all three buckets and say they need to go check the stove. Light tries to knock on the door so he can finish but L tugs on his sleeve as an indication that they need to move on. He’s never seen so much candy be readily available and he can’t stand the idea of missing out now.

They move from the street the Wammy house is on and toward the rest of town. For the most part, people seem to accept that L is in a costume or, as some of them imply in their cautious and overly pitying looks, overgrown in some strange way. Near and Mello roll their eyes when Light explains their costumes but have no problem spinning around to show off their hard work. Their favorite part of the evening is around seven when L lets them ride on his shoulders for ten minutes each. Green stems start to twist from between his bark and Light spies a few pops of yellow as well.

Light acts a good tour guide around town although he knows from L’s expression that none of its landmarks are unfamiliar to him. Just the same, L listens and asks questions but never about what Light says. He asks about where in town Light likes to go—the library, which smells awful but has a good occult section—and what the kids like to do—hang out with their friend, Matt, whose house they’re going to sleep over at tonight—while he eats fun sized candy. Chocolate smears on his teeth and lips so Light beckons him close. With his index finger, he wipes the chocolate off and cleans the finger on L’s jeans. Another stain won’t hurt them.

At seventy forty, their trick or treat trip is almost over and the last house looms ahead. Light doesn’t pay much attention to the place, which is more a trailer than a traditional house, because his chest is full of springs. They coil and bounce around in furious directions not just from an unexpected sadness that the candy run is ending but also that he’s not sure what to do after. The kids have their party and he plans to spend the rest of the night with L. But doing what? His thoughts still jolt from indecision as he knocks on the door until a loud, unappealing laugh echoes from the trailer.

“Howdy.” Beyond steps out, candy bowl held in the crook of his elbow, and twists around Light to look at L. “Looks like the gang’s all here. How’re you, big guy? Remember me?”

“I don’t know you.” L crouches to see Beyond. “But I’m fine.”

“What are you supposed to be?” Mello muscles in front of the group and addresses Beyond. “I’m Mothman. Light said that I’m not color accurate but my wing construction makes up for it. Near is a Kappa but he took off his black hair piece.”

“It itches,” Near says. “I’m just a turtle now.”

“You’re a very good turtle.” L pats Near’s shoulder.

Beyond holds out his arms and clears his throat. Everyone looks at him and attention brings a fresh glow to his smile. He wears a sky blue tropical shirt over a ribbed muscle tank top that’s been tucked into a pair of red and black striped pants. A black belt cinches the pant waistband haphazardly and the bottoms have been shoved into combat boots. His hair—slick enough to be mistaken for plastic—forms a tall quaff topped by a perfect curl. On his shoulder is a fake parrot.

“I’m Ace Ventura.” Pride emboldens his statement and, when both Light and L give confused hums, Beyond deflates a bit. “Don’t you know Ace Ventura? You know? _All righty then_?”

“Oh,” Light says. “Is he a cartoon character?”

“He’s a movie character.” Beyond’s tone is near begging. “You know? Like the American movie with Jim Carrey? You guys know what I’m talking about, right?” He looks at Near and Mello, who nod but don’t offer any other support. “See? The kids know.”

“I don’t watch American movies.” Light slips his hands into his cardigan pockets and shrugs. “There’s too much going on. But your costume is very nice.”

“I’ve never seen a movie.” L reaches and gives the quaff a pat. “Will you still give us candy?”

Beyond grumbles but hands out full sized chocolate bars. He puts two in L’s bucket and makes Light take one as well. His hand lingers when he presses it to Light’s palm and winks. Light coughs out a thank you as he feels L’s eyes stuck to his back for the interaction. Both kids say thank you and they shuffle off to the road but Mello stops. He runs back to where Beyond still stands in the doorway and wraps him in a hug. Beyond’s cheeks flush and he ruffles Mello’s hair.

“I’m glad you came back,” Mello says. “After you set that Taco Bell fire, I thought you’d be gone forever.”

“I’m glad I’m back too,” Beyond says and his eyes catch Light’s as he continues. “It looks like there’s a lot going on in this town.”

After Mello rejoins them, L and Light escort him and Near back to the Wammy house. The kids rush in and up to their bedroom. Even outside, their chatter sails through about what they’re going to take to Matt’s house and who gets to bring which sleeping bag. As quick as they ran in, they’ve come out scrubbed and ready to go.

“Do you need us to take you there?” Light asks but knows the answer will be no. Matt lives three houses away. The late hour and an odd sense of responsibility forces him to ask anyway. Mello shakes his head and hikes his backpack up a little higher.

“We’re fine,” he says. “You guys can go canoodle in the woods or whatever.”

Frowning, Light waves the kids goodbye and turns to L. A candy wrapper hangs from his lips before L pulls it all the way out. After tossing the wrapper in his bucket, he holds out his hand.

“Would you join me on some canoodling?”

Moonlight paints his tangled hair in shots of pearl. L smiles and a yellow flower pops out from a vine on his cheek. Light takes his hand and kisses the back of it. He smiles back, fake fangs showing, and excitement pops in his stomach when L’s pupils dilate again.

“More than anything in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> didn't u just love that cryptid shit? that fun ass kissing in a cave? if you liked this, you might also enjoy my [blog](http://translightyagami.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you enjoy the fic, please leave a comment and let me know what you liked! I love to hear feedback.


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